War is Never Civil
by peanut4th
Summary: American Civil War Oneshot. After coming back from the Constitutional Convention, America discovers his little sister. South won't stay with him long, however, and it isn't long before they must face on the battlefield...


**(Okay, when I should have been writing Poketalia, I wrote this. What do you think?)**

Perhaps he should have known from the start, it could never last, the elation, the victory. It had only taken ten years, aand they were already signing another set of laws, another set of articles to live by. The Articles of Confederation were already being replaced. That alone spelled trouble for America. If thier first system only lasted ten years, what of this second one, the Constitution? It might not last at all. He wasn't sure he could take the defeat he felt when he realized that it JUST WASN'T WORKING. So, as he left the hall, he left with a bitter feeling.

Sighing, he went home, still listening as the South argued with the North, eventually making a compromise on many things, all of which America wasn't prepared for. Maybe if he wasn't so tired, if his heart did't ache so badly with the laughter he was sure Britain was laughing, he would have noticed how much more he heard and agreed with North, rather than South. Maybe he would have been prepared for what he saw when he got home.

That wasn't to say it didn't surprise him when he saw her. She was, to say, a little girl, though she was never as little as Alfred had been. She must have looked about twelve or thirteen. She had the exact same eyes as him, as well as the exact same hair, though it was missing Nantucket. Somewhere in Alfred, he knew who it was. He knew it couldn't be anyone else. She was his little sister, apparently. But how?

And then, the first words she ever spoke were these: "So, you're my brother. I'm the South. I believe you are the North?" She would always be this formal, and America would always find it strange. Then again, he was always more formal in those times too. Shocked, he could only extend his hand and quietly respond.

"I- I'm the United States of America, or- or the North, I suppose." It wasn't like him to stammer, but he had no idea what to do. He stared at her, trying to figure out what to say. It was not the first nor the last time a country would have two representitives, but that didn't make it normal. It happened when there were huge differences in the economy, culture, and lifestyle of two parts of a country. Were the differences tearing up the conference hall that big?

All America could think was this: I hope this Constitution lasts even a year. If the differences were that big... And now, the only side he could seem to agree with was the North... So much for mediation.

* * *

America, or North United States, would grow to know South better over the years. For example, ghosts only amused South, while they scared the bejeebies out of America. South also had a big appitite, just like America. However, she refused to eat any old food, being a bit of a picky eater. She was an extermely hard worker, and, while lacking America's sheer strength, had endurance no one could match. She was loyal to the core, and would be loyal to her people before all things.

America, or North as he was called at home, found himself hiding the young girl. Technically, though their country had two representitves, "America" was the diplomatic one, sort of how today "Italy" represents Italy for Romano. MInd you, to South, this never made sense. She always saw herself as the more mature of the two, and infinately more level-headed. However, this was not the case if she got angry, an the sole reason why she never demanded to go to meetings. If she did, she really was going to blow up at someone.

Speaking of blowing up, she did that A LOT. She was easily angered, and easy to insult. America tried, he really did. However, when he came home, he never would be surprised if South blew up at him.

"YOU IDIOT NORTHERNER!" she would shout. "YEAH, I GET THAT YOU THINK YOUR OWN ECONOMY'S IMPORTANT, BUT IF YOU DON'T STOP THAT NOW, I WILL PUNCH YOU." America would always do a double take, forgetting that this was the same formal and poloite girl he knew.

"I'M SORRY I CAN'T PLEASE EVERYONE!"

"WELL PLEASE ME FOR A CHANGE!"

"DAMNIT I'M TRYING!"

"YEAH RIGHT! LIKE YOU EVER TRY! I'M JUST GLAD WE GET TO VOTE, OTHERWISE YOUR IDIOTIC CANIDATES WOULD HAVE ALREADY SCREWED EVERYTHING UP!"

"YOU THINK I DON'T SOMETIMES WONDER ABOUT YOUR GUYS, SOUTH? I CAN'T DO EVERYTHING!"

"THAT'S THE PROBLEM, DAMNIT! YOU JUST TRY TO DO EVERYTHING! YOU CAN'T DO EVERYTHING!" Whichever boss was in office would just groan as the shouting match continued, and it normally escalated to the point that one of them was in tears. The other sibling would finally offer up wis or her hand in support, and either North or South would often end up singing to the other. They both had surprisingly good voices. And in the end, they always made up... sorta.

Right?

* * *

America rubbed his temples. He had a headache. It wasn't uncommon for him to have a headache recently. Even after gaining territory, he was still divided, and it was getting worse as they grew even more and more different. The North had been rapidly urbanized and industrialized, never having been a place for much farming. Alfred found more enegy pulsing through him as the faster, productive and rapidly changing North.

South was different. She saw change through resentful eyes, wanting nothing more for her lands and people to stay the same. She wanted her agriculture, her sparwling plantations, and her old, laid-back attitudes. She saw the melting pot, and, as much as she tried to accept it, she couldn't. She was distrustful of strangers by nature, and had prejudice that America could not help but look down upon.

One day, and argument lead to words that would leave some of America's longest lasting scars, differences, and the last war fought on American soil. One day, fed up, South uttered words that she could never, ever take back.

"THAT'S IT. I'm leaving. I'm done. I can't work with you! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"

"YOU CAN'T! South, don't do this to me! PLEASE! I WON'T LET YOU LEAVE!"

"I'm not putting up with you or your idiotic boss any longer." As she left, she stole America's glasses. "And I believe these are mine."

America, the Union, tried not to cry as states left, just as his sister had predicted. He tried not to cry as his outraged people dressed him in war outfit, sending him to battle the secessionists. South Carolina went first. Then Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georga, Louisiana, Texas, Virginia. The Confederate was formed, and Richmond, all too close yet too far away, became his sister's heart.

No one was surprised when the shots on Fort Sumter were fired. War had begun, just as it had been itching to for ages. America's Civil War had started.

* * *

Standing at Gettysburg, America could feel himself in pain. 3,155 men killed. Men who had lives that mattered. Anger shot through him, as well as immense sadness. They had turned back Lee, sure, but as a famous commander once said, who needs defeat when you've got victories like these?

And then he saw her. She seemed to have as much pain and sadness in her bones as he had in his. 4,708 men killed. She saw him, and, though she wa supposed to be retreating with her troops, she gave a small nod to the man who she had once callled her brother. She was about sixteen in appearance now. As she walked away again, America had tears in his eyes.

Who was he crying for, her or himself? He shouldn't be crying for her. Shouldn't he represent the sentements of a people now angry at her for what she had done? But America had a human soul, even if he was not human. He could feel it tearing him apart. He needed to comfort his little sister, but she would shoot him if she did.

Sighing, he turned away, tears in his eyes as the boss he loved and his sister hated started his famous speech. "Four score and seven years ago..."

* * *

Appomattox. They had been ordered to end it here, and they both shared the sentiment. Today, they would dare to face each other in a final battle for the Union, or to be seperated. The venom in each of the other's footsteps was clear. Today, it was do or die.

America, despite his anger, felt a tiny amount of remorse when he saw Confederate. She was covered in burns, and the scars across her looked deadly and dangerous. His total war was destroying everything. She had gaping wounds and tears in her clothes that would not heal over her heart, where Richmond, her golden city, had been pillaged and burnt.

'You bastard," hissed Confederate. "You call yourself my brother? What sort of brother kills thier sister?" America froze in his anger.

"DAMNIT, SOUTH, I NEVER MEANT TO KILL YOU LIKE THIS!" South, sadistic in her anger, only laughed. Her normal explosions seemed like a breath from the past now. America looked on in horror and pain.

"Well, you are. Will we get on with it? I know you are going to kill me today. Look around you! We've lost. I can feel it, bastard. Go ahead, finish the job you started when you set me aflame. Kill me." All the anger finally fell out of America.

"I... Damnit. Damnit, South, sis." The word felt dry in his throat. He hadn't used it in so long. "Damnit, sis. I was prepared to take you back today, as prisoner. Not to kill you!" The words seemed harsh, but he knew the girl would act the part of a captive until the last whispers of war rolled away. Maybe... maybe they could make it.

"Well then, brother," she sneered, making America flinch. "I suppose I'll do the killing." Suddenly, a gun was held up to his chest. He flashed back to a certain revolution. But Confederate got angry. Confederate was actually going to do it.

"Damnit, Union Bastard!" Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Even though I know you won't die, can I do this? If I shoot you, I'll take the last of myself from you... but I can't do it. YOU FUCKING IDIOT, WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?" Both were now crying, guns pointed at thier other half.  
"How can I do this?"

"How can I do this?"

"Sis?"

"Brother?"

"...I'm sorry." They took a step back. They both pulled the trigger. But before Confederate could finish, there was a bang. Her finger had slipped, and America had shot. Before either could react, she was falling, falling.

"SOUTH!" shrieked America, and uneartly scream, knowing too late what had happened. THe battlefield looked. One by one, as a surrender was made, guns were lowered. "SOUTH! WAKE UP, DAMNIT! WAKE UP, WAKE UP!" He got to the gorund and shook her. "SOUTH! THIS IS YOUR BROTHER! I NEED YOU! WAKE UP!" Slowly, her body was fading away. Tears streamed from Amerrica's cheeks as he started sympasizing with the South more and more. Then, she was gone, a ghost.

"South..." It took many brave men to get that older brother to move away, until finally, it hit him that she would be yelling.

"Hey, idiot Northerner. Do I have issues with you sitting there, ignoring everything? I DO, IDIOT! NOW GET UP AND FIX MY PEOPLE!" And, as he stood up, he imagined one of her songs drifting away. He replied with words of his own, before slowly getting up and walking away.

He's never really healed, though.****

(How do you think I handled Confederate? Tell me your opinion! Review!)


End file.
